


somebody loves you for yourself

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (1990), IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Pennywise (IT), Cuddling & Snuggling, Curtain Fic, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24255109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: Stuck in the corner of the frame, outside the glass, is a strip of photos of the two of them. It’s just from some photobooth they went to on their third or fourth date. They still don’t look completely comfortable touching each other the way that they are; Richie’s arm across Eddie’s shoulders is a little stiff, Eddie’s posture is slightly too tight. The first picture in the strip shows the two of them just laughing stupid at some joke Richie hadjustmade and, appropriately, Eddie’s trying to scold him for it in the second one. He’s visibly failing, through the laughter.In the third photo, Richie’s arm around Eddie’s shoulders shifts so his hand is turning Eddie’s face up. So, of course, in the fourth, they’re kissing.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 7
Kudos: 207
Collections: it (1990) one-shots





	somebody loves you for yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cosmoknot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmoknot/gifts).



> Happy birthday [Shane](https://twitter.com/residentcryptid)! I love you so much!
> 
> Title taken from ["Wake Up, Sunshine"](https://open.spotify.com/track/0xUvmXH7JO3klazeWlOyup) by All Time Low.

Eddie fucking hates working at an Olive Garden, but he’s also twenty-four and he works the jobs he has to work to pay his bills.

He all but kicks in his front door, getting a grip on himself just short of the door actually making contact with the wall. Banging his way in will just wake Richie up, and he doesn’t actually want to talk to anyone right now. He’s just had a long day and he’s filled with steam and he just wants to sleep and start the fuck over tomorrow.

Shutting the front door to their small apartment as softly as he can, Eddie keeps the lights off as he navigates their home. When he gets to their darkened kitchen, Richie’s left the light over the sink on. Going to it, Eddie finds a sticky note stuck on the faucet that says,  _ check the oven,  _ so he does; Richie’s left a covered dish for him, but he’s too exhausted to eat anything. Instead, he takes the dish to the fridge to eat tomorrow instead.

When he opens the refrigerator door, the light illuminates the scraps stuck to the freezer door above with magnets. Eddie sticks the dish on the top shelf, his eyes never straying from a note Richie’s left up on the freezer for months now. It just says,  _ ran out for eggs for ur stupid cake, i love you, happy birthday, be back in 30 mins!! _

Well, maybe Eddie’s kept it up on the freezer. Neither of them’s taken it down, anyways.

He pushes the door closed again, flicking off the light over the sink. Richie’s left a lamp on in the living room, too, he can see now; Eddie goes to the side table to turn it off, too.

His attention is a little unfocused, tired and drifting from his day. He can’t help but look down at the accumulation of clutter that Richie’s got all over the side table. Briefly, he’s annoyed, but then he actually starts looking through what Richie’s got there.

The biggest thing in his little pile is a framed, propped-up picture of the seven of them on their last family vacation. Well, Richie insists on calling them family vacations, so they all do; it’s not like Eddie has any other family, anyways.

Stuck in the corner of the frame, outside the glass, is a strip of photos of the two of them. It’s just from some photobooth they went to on their third or fourth date. They still don’t look completely comfortable touching each other the way that they are; Richie’s arm across Eddie’s shoulders is a little stiff, Eddie’s posture is slightly too tight. The first picture in the strip shows the two of them just laughing stupid at some joke Richie had  _ just _ made and, appropriately, Eddie’s trying to scold him for it in the second one. He’s visibly failing, through the laughter.

In the third photo, Richie’s arm around Eddie’s shoulders shifts so his hand is turning Eddie’s face up. So, of course, in the fourth, they’re kissing. It’s not a deep kiss, especially by their current standards. By most standards, actually, it’s just chaste and close-mouthed, but they’re both smiling, and Eddie’s fingers are curling up in Richie’s t-shirt, and he knows they both love the picture even though neither of them has ever commented on it.

Looking down at it makes Eddie feel calmer. The angry flares of heat start to settle down into more of a hazy warmth in his chest, and he sighs, pushing through Richie’s scraps of Post-It notes and torn journal paper, covered in little reminders to himself and bits of ideas he has, until he finds the switch on the base of the lamp.

He looks at Richie’s face again in the second picture on the strip. Eddie’s staring him down, half-laughing as he shouts whatever he’d been shouting, but he doesn’t really look at Richie’s face too much in the picture. All he’s doing is staring at Eddie.

Now, Eddie really looks. Richie’s looking at him in that picture the same way he has since they were little boys and the same way he does now. It’s the way he only looks when he thinks he’s not being watched, but Eddie knows it anyways.

With a snap, Eddie throws the room into darkness. He can navigate their furniture easily to their little back bedroom, making his way easily through the maze of the life they’ve built together for themselves in this tiny little place. It’s more of a home to him than any other place he’s ever been; this life has been more of a home to him, too. He finally feels more himself, embracing the people he loves and leaving behind those who only want to control and own him. He feels  _ alive,  _ finally.

The residual frustrations and stress of his stupid shift roll off his back when he gets to their bedroom. The lights are all off, but the light of the TV flickers in blue bolts across Richie’s sleeping face. When Eddie shuts the door softly, he lifts his head, frowning and squinting in his direction.

“Eddie, baby, hey,” he says, voice gruff and rumbling in his chest. He half-clears his throat, rubbing at his eyes. He doesn’t have a shirt on; Eddie can’t tell if he’s wearing anything else, since the sheets are rucked up and tangled near his waist, but he starts stripping off every bit of his own clothes anyways. It all feels like it itches in comparison to how soft and comfortable Richie looks in bed.

“What’re you doing up?” Eddie asks. He leaves his uniform pieces in a heap in front of the television, as if to remind them of what the symbolize, before he turns the TV off. The thing fizzles for a second, the electricity lingering in the air for a moment before humming out of the room.

“I w’s jus’ waiting for you,” Richie tells him. It’s half-slurred, but Eddie makes it out anyways. He holds one arm up, beckoning to Eddie instinctively.

Eddie leaves his underwear in the pile before climbing into bed, folding himself into Richie’s arms and face-planting into his chest. He can barely see him in the darkness, but his eyes are adjusting, and he knows every inch of Richie by feel anyways.

His hands creep up Richie’s sides, feeling his soft, warm skin underneath the coarse hair that covers most of him. As his hands start sliding underneath Richie’s back to hold onto him, Richie says something unintelligible, mumbled into Eddie’s pillow. All Eddie hears is gibberish; all he feels is another deep rumbling in Richie’s chest as his low voice tries to get the words out.

“What was that?” Eddie asks softly.

“How’s your day?” Richie repeats, lifting his head up. Eddie lets one of his hands slip out from under Richie to cup his face instead. He can feel the soft hair of the beard he’s growing out, longer than stubble but shorter than an actual beard; he uses touch to guide Richie into a soft kiss, his hand cupping all along the warm side of his face.

“Better now,” Eddie tells him when they separate. Richie smiles; Eddie can feel it against his cheek when Richie’s head dips to kiss his jawline.

“Good,” Richie says. “Get some sleep, baby, mhm?”

“Okay,” Eddie agrees. Richie smiles again, one of his hands coming up and maneuvering around Eddie’s head and shoulders to pull his glasses off. He sets them down on the nightstand after Eddie’s already buried his face in Richie’s chest again; he can hear the clatter of them dropping an inch or two to the wood.

“Love you,” Richie murmurs. He kisses the top of Eddie’s head, then smiles before he has to lift his head away and sneeze, tickled by Eddie’s curls of hair in his nose. Eddie turns him back in for another kiss before he settles his head down on Richie’s chest again. He can feel and hear his heart with his ear pressed to his soft chest; it’s comfortable, steady, and slowing as he falls back asleep. His hand absently drifts up and down Eddie’s back, warm fingers trailing along his bare skin.

“Love you,” Eddie says, thinking of the strip of pictures again. Richie yawns, jaw cracking, and turns his face into Eddie’s hair with no regard for the past. He stifles a sneeze, then settles in, falling back asleep before Eddie can say anything else. It’s fine timing, though, because Eddie thinks he’s ready to be done with the day, too.

**Author's Note:**

> You can (and should!) come chat with me on Twitter at [@nicole__mello](https://twitter.com/nicole__mello) (new @!) and/or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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